Sea Stories from Uncle Sam's Canoe Club
Or, what they don't mention in military recruiting ads.
Life on deployment can be monotonous but sometimes, it can also be hilarious.
While deployed on the USS HAWES (Hell All Week even Sunday), the daily routine onboard ship quickly becomes monotonous. Imagine you and 200+ of your best (not) friends waking up at 0600, eating breakfast, then working a 12-hour shift from 0700-1900. All in an area slightly over the length of a football field, but only 15 yards at her widest point. Same food, same ocean, same work, etc.
Hell, even the programming broadcast on the TVs in the berthing lounge and ships cafeteria were the same. It seemed as if the Eddie Murphy movie Norbit was stuck on a repeat loop. I swear it felt like the movie was always on. The phrase “Groundhog Day” is the perfect metaphor for days at sea. Because of all this, stopping in port for a few days offered a brief respite from the deployment grind.
Everyone was excited the morning we pulled up pier side in the small country of Bahrain. Although a Middle Eastern country, Bahrain is moderately westernized, and offered amenities that an American (or any sailor) sailor wanted. Namely bars and fast food. The Gold Souk was also a great opportunity to buy quality jewelry at insanely cheap prices. Think 22 karat gold necklaces for less than $100 bucks. Guys would show up back at the ship decked out in Mr. T starter kits.
The time off from ship duty in Bahrain was to be three days, and I wanted to get a hotel for the first night to escape the constant hum of the ship's generators and to take a hot bath to wash the “Boat” off of me. “What is Boat?”, you ask? Well, being on the ship for extended periods surrounded by equipment, the generators, workspaces, and fumes tends to give an individual a certain, let’s say, aroma. Yes, there are showers on the ship and I took one daily, but the stench of Boat inhabits one’s clothing and self regardless of personal hygiene habits.
With all this in mind, me and a friend off the ship we will call Larry departed the ship and headed into town by taxi. We asked the cab driver for recommendations on hotels within our budget. He suggested the Best Western so we agreed for him to take us there. When he pulled up to the hotel it was still early afternoon and from outside the Best Western looked much like the ones in the US. Walking into the lobby I noticed the hotel bar.
It was quite a sight.
Most hotel bars are unremarkable, but this one had a wild west saloon theme complete with saloon-style swinging doors and a huge John Wayne portrait on the wall. A huge set of longhorns straight from a Texas pasture were mounted above the bar. Even the barstools had a horse saddle design. Urban Cowboy didn’t try this hard to be authentic. Suffice to say, it was a bit jarring to find a Middle Eastern hotel honky tonk.
The room was your standard setup with two beds, a TV and sitting table by the window. The window did not have much of a view, but I did not care about that. The bed and the bath were the main benefits to me. You see, while underway on the tin can, living arrangements are Spartan style.1 You have what they call berthing where you and about 50 of your best friends (sarc) get to share. Imagine a space about the size of a Starbucks filled with 3-person bunk beds stacked inside it. Sleeping in a real bed and taking a long bath was a luxury reserved for these port calls.2
It was early afternoon, so I told Larry I was gonna grab a nap for a few hours, and that we could go get something to eat before hitting the town after that. Surprisingly, Bahrain has a decent number of bars and even nightclubs for being a Muslim nation. I quickly drifted off to sleep while Larry watched TV and complained they did not have ESPN.
A short time later, I was in that stage where you are asleep but can vaguely hear what was going on. Kinda of the inbetween. I kept thinking I heard the TV because there seemed to be sounds of girls giggling. Maybe Larry found a european game show, I thought. The soft laughter continued to the point where finally, I opened my eyes.
Oh, hello.
Sitting on the other bed were seven Russian women in lingerie staring at me. “You like group sex?” asked the biggest one I swear could have been Roseanne Barr’s sister. Before I could collect my thoughts and respond, Larry yells out from the bathroom “Get one dude, they’re great! I got two in here!” Now I’m no prude, but I am most definitely a hypochondriac when it comes to paying for sex. Always a firm believer in the motto: “Whatever is overseas — can stay overseas.”
I politely gathered my stuff (sorry, I don’t trust hookers) and told Larry that I would be downstairs at the John Wayne bar. Maybe 30 minutes later he walks into the bar and sits down. I asked him how we ended up with half the Russians in Bahrain in our hotel room. He said that after I had been asleep for an hour or so, the room phone rang. Thinking we were getting recalled to the ship, he answered and the person says, “Hello my friend. Are you interested in some entertainment?” Larry replied, “Sure. What kind of entertainment?” The voice on the other line tells him “We have lovely Moroccans, Lebanese, and Russian ladies who want to meet you.” Larry told him to send all the Russians. So, that was how our room was invaded like the eastern front in WWII by the Russian Hooker Brigade.3
“Larry, how much did you spend for those Russian escorts?” I asked him. “Only 600” he replied. At first I thought that was a reasonably cheap price, but then a thought occurred to me. I asked if he paid that price in US Dollars, or in the local currency of Dinars. He said he paid it in Dinars.
“Um, Larry?” You know you just paid the equivalent of around $2500 US for those girls.”
His eyes widened as the calculation of the exchange rate: 3-1 US dollar to Dinar finally sunk in. “F***!” he yelled.
Needless to say, he drank heavily that night, steaming over the enormous amount of money spent for his re-enactment of a Cold War fantasy.
-Arthur
Describing it as a floating prison is not an exaggeration.
Amazing how one doesn’t care about a bathtub until it isn’t an option.
I later discovered that this Best Western was notorious for being a cathouse.
^ Sounds about right.